Attention: All characters/settings/events are fictional and used in a fictional way. This story contains coarse language, mature subject matter, and sexual content. It is intended for mature, 18+ audiences!

“Good evening folks, welcome to another episode of Urban Mysteries…”

The frigid rooftop vent was hardly an ideal seat for a Sunday night beer-and-podcast session, but he wasn’t someone who shared humanity’s typical ideals. His earpiece was snug, the concrete was dry, and most importantly – he had a perfect view of the dingy alleyway.

Its coarse graffiti-splashed bricks and sludge-mottled floor, flickering in and out beneath unsteady yellow lights… he could see it all.

That, to him, was quite ideal.

“Today we’ll be talking about one of the newest additions to our city’s supernatural inhabitants... the Reaper.”

He had set the podcast to play at a background volume. Loud enough to catch the important words… quiet enough to easily ignore.

“... Quite the strange case, reported on yesterday’s news…”

Leaning back against the icy surface of the vent, which impressively didn’t seem affected by his body warmth at all, he lifted his drink to lips. He didn’t understand how the chemical tang of alcohol was at all appealing, but it was very good at smothering the sour city smell.

“A wanted criminal was finally taken into police custody after nearly two months without leads. But it wasn’t your typical arrest scenario, was it? Our guest today, who wishes to remain anonymous, is a reporter who has followed the police closely on this case. We’ll call him Mr. M. Thank you for joining us – could you tell us what’s so intriguing about this case?”

He’d been zoning out on one of the flickering lights, but as a deeper voice replaced the host’s lighthearted rambling, he distractedly tuned back in.

“Yes, thank you for having me. A lot of this was said on the news already, but the suspect was found unconscious in his own home. A neighbour was reportedly cleaning up after his dog in the suspect’s front yard at 9pm Tuesday night, when he saw the suspect fall down the stairs through a window’s blinds. He said he heard a cry and a thump, and then all the lights in the house went out. Worried that the man was hurt, he called 911. The man was found unconscious in his living room and transferred to the hospital, where he was later identified as the suspect.”

He uttered a quiet, thoughtful sigh and swirled his canned drink idly over the edge of the building. It should be soon... any time, now...

“Quite the lucky accident indeed, isn’t it? You mentioned that you were able to glimpse the suspect at the hospital, Mr. M. Did he look like he’d simply fallen down the stairs?”

“Ah, well...”

The guest speaker chuckled a little nervously.

“It did, actually. The hospital says he only suffered minor bruising and a concussion. I spoke to the neighbour at the scene, too, and was told that he hadn’t seen anyone else in the house. The police said that it didn’t look like there had been any foul play, or break-ins to the building.”

“So could it be that this was really just a lucky accident?”

“You know, I’m tempted to say yes, but... there have been a few too many ‘lucky accidents’ lately, haven’t there?”

The lights died for a brief second, then flickered back on with their ghastly yellow glow. At the entrance of the alleyway, a long shadow had appeared, and he hastily stopped swirling his drink.

The shadow lengthened. A silhouette wearing an old brown windbreaker and knit toque walked into the alleyway. They seemed relaxed – strolling leisurely forward, swinging their keychain around their finger.

In his ear, the podcast host and their guest continued in exaggeratedly hushed voices.

“Very true, very true. That murder suspect who is on trial now, the one who killed his girlfriend, he was also taken into custody after someone found him unconscious on the street, right? Police said he’d fallen out of his own window, and that his wounds had been self-inflicted.”

“Yes, and there’s more, too. Police have been receiving an increased number of anonymous tips and video evidence of various crimes in the past year. They say it jokingly, but rumors are that there’s a vigilante in the city.”

The toque-wearing silhouette strolled over to a dingy apartment door in the corner. The outermost light flickered off, and it didn’t come back – but they didn’t seem bothered. Then again, it was miracle enough that any of these lights worked at all. It was probably a normal occurrence.

“A vigilante... is that what you think, too, Mr. M?”

The silhouette was trying to unlock the apartment door now. Quiet beeping interrupted the muffled silence as they typed in the key code, followed by a red blink from the LED and a discouraging chime. They paused for a moment, clearly surprised that it hadn’t worked.

Then, they did what any predictable human would do – they grumbled about it and tried again.

“No, definitely not. It’s impossible.”

The host sounded surprised.

“Oh...?”

“Think about it. It’s 2028. Technology has evolved so quickly that there isn’t a speck of the city that’s not under surveillance. Dash cams, door cams, phones, satellites – some places even have thermal detection where video isn’t ethical. If this is the work of a vigilante, they would have been seen by now. But there hasn’t been a single trace of them. In all cases, all confirmed footage show that the suspects were completely alone.”

“Is that where the Reaper comes in? What is a Reaper, Mr. M?”

The red LED flash for the eight time. He’d been counting.

This time, the silhouette swore so loudly that he couldn’t even hear the digital lock’s obnoxious beep. They reached into their windbreaker and took out their phone, its screen remained dark.

They cursed again, sounding confused now. He could see them smothering the screen of their phone with fingerprints, as though frantic button presses would somehow revive the dead machine.

One more light flickered and then sizzled out. Glancing at the encroaching shadows, the silhouette growled nervously.

“What the fuck, why is nothing working...”

The podcast guest lowered his voice into suspenseful murmur.

“Right... nobody knows what the Reaper really is, actually. It showed up two years ago when a cyber group started claiming that the government had created a supernatural vigilante to govern the masses. It has never been seen, but several suspects claimed that their injuries had been inflicted by someone who didn’t appear in any surveillance footage...”

“So do you think this Reaper has come here, to our city...?”

The silhouette struggled with their phone for a while longer, then turned back to the key code and tried one more time. It blinked red – no luck. Finally giving up, the silhouette swore and turned away from the door.

Straightening, he pushed the podcast into the background for a moment. His drink was empty now, and there was nothing to shield him from the sourness of the alley – but it was alright. He wanted to be fully aware of everything that was about to happen.

Oblivious in their fury, the silhouette stomped blindly away from their apartment. As soon as their boots sank into the shadows, the last yellow light vanished.

The entire alley plunged into complete darkness.

He counted the seconds as they passed. In the first second, he heard a faint scuffle. In the second, a muffled thump. In the third, silence. Then, in the fourth... a calm, unfamiliar murmur.

“Alicia… confirm.”

He closed his eyes and tuned his conscience to the electrical wavelengths below. In his head, a smooth female voice replied.

<Target – identified. Status – identified. Vitals – confirmed. Mission complete.>

The innermost light flickered back. The toque-wearing silhouette from earlier was lying unconscious on the mottled ground, alone, still holding their phone to their chest. One by one, the other lights began to return, flooding the entire alleyway with bright yellow light.

But the blinding glow only lasted a moment. The lights began to flicker again, blinking in and out of existence, unstable and lonely witnesses to what had just happened. Them – and him.

He stared at the barren alleyway, empty can of beer feeling light and hollow in his hand. Distantly, voices from the podcast echoed at the edges of his conscience.

“Should we be worried about the Reaper, Mr. M?”

There was a hoarse, grim laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know, as long as you’re not guilty of anything, it should be fine…”

“…Right?”